Happy Mother's Day, Mom

Mother's Day. Every year at this time well meaning, well intentioned friends and family ask repeatedly if I'm okay since my mother's passing 7 years ago. It's very sweet and appreciated but not necessary. My favorite is when they invite me to events with their own mothers. As sweet as that is it's not the least bit appealing to me. I usually spend the day by myself doing whatever I want.

First of all, I count myself lucky I had my mother until I was well into my 20's. My grandmother died when my mother was 5 and my mother never really got over it. (Getting over a death is subjective for anyone but young ones it's different.) I had her for the years I needed her most...


Second, she was in pain. To wish she were still alive would include her being in constant pain and all the grief this brings.As I get older I get more selfish but when it comes to the people I love most (VERY chosen few) I am not, at all. I was prepared for her death, as prepared as one can be. I let her go when she took her last breath.


Unless you've lost someone close to you it seems you just don't get that it's not always the obvious days (Mother's Day, Christmas, their birthday...etc) when you miss your loved one. It's the random moments.
What people don't understand is that I'm fine for Mother's Day. Sure I may tear up a bit, I loved her and miss her every day...I may even cry. The days that get me the most are the days I see someone who looks like her in a crowd and I get really excited only to realize that's not her. Or the days when something, good or bad, happens and I realize I can't tell her about it.Or when I think about my future and know she'll never be there to share in my day. Or the days I'm just sad and I need a hug....there is something about a mother's hug that always made things better, even as an adult. So far no one has filled that spot and I'm not sure that spot can be filled.

This year I'll be spending Mother's Day weekend with the women in my family...a fun brunch for the aunts and godmothers.The day of I'll spend with a friend who lost her mother a few years ago...this day is still hard for her. I'll be fine, most likely because I know she needs me to be. I'm okay with that.

Who knows, maybe our mom's are hanging out, wherever they are. = )

Hey Paesano

 

 ***First off, I should point out that in the scheme of things, my feelings of discrimination don't scratch the surface of racial discrimination and I'm aware of this.

 

I'm standing in my old church's vestibule waiting for a funeral mass for my best friend's grandfather who was also my first landlord. 95 years old and one of the sweetest men I've ever met. There are maybe 10 of us waiting, all for the same reason. A group of his relatives, 50+ in age are talking and their conversation leads to the current (and hopefully over) debate about Obama's origin. I hear someone call him a "mulignan". A mulignan is basically the n-word in Italian. At this point I'm annoyed, I treasure my curse words but racial epithets piss me off. Next someone makes a joke about Obama being Sicilian..Then some biddy says, "aren't Sicilians all mulignans anyway, hahahahaha". I just turned and stared at them.

 

 

For those who don't know me, I'm an Italian mutt. My family is from different areas, north and south of Italy. I have blond/blue eyed/light skinned relatives as well as darker skinned/dark complexioned/dark haired ones. I happen to look Sicilian. I have olive skin and very dark hair and eyes. I can pass for Mediterranean, Indian or Pakistani but if you're familiar with Italians you can tell where I'm from with just a look. A doctor once told me I was built like a hearty Sicilian peasant woman (a nice way of saying I was "hippy"). Recently I was in the supermarket and some older man smiled at me and started whistling "the Godfather" theme.

 

 

This isn't my first time dealing with Italian-on-Italian discrimination. At my cousin's wedding a few years ago I overheard her new in laws speaking in Italian...now I don't speak it myself but I knew enough to understand they were commenting negatively on my family's origin. I haven't forgiven them for this and never will.

 

 

There is also Italian-on-Italian discrimination based on skin color. As I stated before I'm olive skinned. Both sides of my family are primarily fair skinned. I'm the darkest on both sides. My parents used to tease that I was picked up off the streets of Mexico when I was a baby. Getting a tan in the summer was always an argument with my mother beyond skin care worries. She hated when I was "too dark". After a week spent on the beaches of Fire Island both my mother and my best friend (Italian) told me I looked Indian and to never ever get that dark again.

 

 

So here I am, standing in the church I grew up in, in an Italian neighborhood, at an funeral for an Italian-American man, listening to a group of Italian-Americans call my family mulignans. I was more than tempted to say something, I have a big mouth in these situations but I know better. I wanted to say I'd rather be a mulignan any day rather than be "their kind". I'm proud of my heritage no matter where my relatives originated. Instead I just turned to face them and cocked my head to make sure they knew I heard. They weren't paying attention so my look got me nowhere. It wasn't the time or place and honestly, I didn't want to be the stereotypical loud mouthed, Jersey Shore watching, gold chain wearing, greasy Italian.....instead I sucked it up and tried to "stay classy". Eh, at least it kept me from crying for a while...